ARACHNAROTICA
by missolace
Summary: The story of a love between a young blossoming woman, Rose Winters, and her arachnoid shape shifting literature teacher, Mr Arachnaaron. Can their all-defeating love defy the prejudices of their kind? Will the love of Arachnaaron help Rose to overcome her defective social status and her dysfunctional home life? Or is Rose trapped in a web of sexual destruction? Johmme.
1. Chapter 1

**My name is Rose Winters, and from the day I was born, I was blessed with the three words every child yearns for... "I love you".**

These were written on a locket given to me by my mother, hung around my neck at birth, just before she died. Cos the birth was so traumatic.  
Growing up alone with my father, each day was a struggle. Even though I constantly fought for his love, he blamed me for my mother's untimely death and used to put cigarettes out on my bare skin. It hurt, a pain that ran deeper than skin.  
He hated me and when referring to me in conversation called me the reverse abortion. To my face he called me mother killer. He called me a bitch. He called me a dipshit. He called me a lot of names I have since repressed.  
From the age of 14, I was put in the psych ward. My father told me it would heal the sickness of my mind. But it didn't and I remained evil in his mind.  
Three years on, at the age of 17, I am just trying to fit in at high school, but the more I try, the more I fail. Everyone knows my sickness, it becomes more apparent every day, and I am avoided like the plague.  
Standing at 5' 9" it's not even like I can hide away, especially with my burning red hair that doesn't so much fall down my back as spring out my head. Like my hair, my life is just as untameable. It may come as no surprise to you, but I have never had a boyfriend. Or even so much as been kissed. I am a Total. Virgin.  
Feeling alone comes naturally to me, and if there's one thing in life I excel at, it's my ability to hide away.  
Today it's the trials for the cheerleading team and it's compulsory to try out. Last year my tampon fell out during a jump, and now they call me Carrie. It was like I'd given birth to my own social death, this little block of bloody cotton, dropped to the floor as if from an unclenched fist, and rolled away, a bloody trail that lead me to the beginning of my end. From that day on, I never forgot my spankies again.  
At least I have lit class straight after. Mr Solace has kind of been like my mentor. I'm... pretty good at writing and he's been giving me extra curricular work. I'm so excited to be back working with him again. Sometimes, and I know this sound strange, but it feels like he's the only one who cares. He's like the father I never had. And mother I sorely missed. Even though I never knew her.

September 1st

Cheerleading trials went horribly. I cracked my coccyx doing a cartwheel when I landed in the lap of the deputy headmaster. He was not amused, but maybe a little aroused, but everyone knows he's a total pedo, so like, whatever. My dad said I was a whore and I deserved a broken coccyx like what I did to my mother, and refused to take me to the hospital. So, once again, I had to do self surgery. Let's just say, this is not the first time I've reconstructed my hymen. Needless to say, I won't be making the team this year, but, at least that's the last time I have to go through that torture.  
Once again, I made lead tuba in the school band. I'm worried my retainer will come out if I blow too hard, and get stuck in the tuba again, but the conductor promised he'd make me a smaller hole.  
Weirdly, Mr Solace wasn't in today, which totally bummed, since he's the only good thing about school, or even my life.  
We've been promised a cover teacher in the meantime, and I'm a bit nervous but, since I'm good at the subject, hopefully it'll be okay.

September 2nd

Mr Solace is dead. Wtf. He's like the only good thing I had in my life. And now the only good thing I had in my life is dead. Goodness is dead. Just like my mother! The word at school is that he apparently he hung himself because he was gay and in love with a student. I can't imagine what it must be like, to love someone so truly that you can't have because society says it's wrong. Poor Mr Solace. At least now I can rest with the knowledge that he's sat with my mother in heaven watching my life unfold.  
But you know what kids are like, I'm hoping he's just on extended vacation, after all the new guy has yet to turn up.

I have yet to make friends, or even speak to anyone. The only contact I have made with another human being, is when Tod the school hottie and well-known bad guy with his posse of sycophants tripped me over purposely as apparently it's funny. Not to me. Everybody laughed, and I just lay there, humiliated my lanky limbs all tangled on the floor. I was so embarrassed I was paralysed on the spot. I just wanted to die. I finally understood what Mr Solace had felt like all these years. Unless he's still on vacation.  
Amidst the tormenting ringing of laughter I heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching, getting louder and louder until it stopped. Then the laughter stopped. I was face to face with the most gorgeous italian leather I had ever seen. Curious, I slowly looked up, a beautiful suit hung from well defined muscular legs... and yet more legs. And, this guy was tall. And had a lot of legs, eight, to my count.  
I must have been hallucinating with concussion, before I knew it I felt the strong grip of male hands hoisting me up off the ground. The contact was like none other I had ever felt. My body trembled under his touch and even though it was so brief, the feeling lingered on my skin. A blush crept upon my face as my body pressed against that of this handsome stranger. I finally got up the courage to glimpse upon his face. Such beautiful white skin, deepest black hair and most piercing intense green eyes. A green that was so vivid, so pure, it seemed so unnatural, but so inviting.  
The way he looked back at me felt... strange. No one has ever looked at me this way before, so intense was his gaze I completely forgot myself; the humiliation I went through moments before. He was just so beautiful, too beautiful. And before I knew he had been holding me, he had let me go. A chill instantly ran down my spine as he nodded, turned on his heel, and disappeared into the crowd. Luckily I remembered to breathe, otherwise I probably would've got brain damage from the lack of oxygen combined with the concussion I'd sustained moments before. For the first time in my seventeen years, I felt like a woman. Who was this dark mysterious stranger? And why was I so affected by him?


	2. Chapter 2

**September 3rd.**

**I woke up, sweating, gasping. I looked down under the covers. My hand was clenched under my bed dress, stroking the first of my pubic hairs in rotation. It felt thick and coarse - like the undergrowth of the forests I had read so much about in the Lord of the Rings. It had been another wet dream. I was mortified.**  
**I had spent the night before consumed by thoughts of that handsome stranger's touch. It stayed on my skin. It consumed me, my mind, like a parasite.**  
**I lay there, still fumbling, about to reach the peak of my pleasure. **  
My ears were consumed by the exaggerated, ecstatic pounding of my heart, hiding the distant sound of my father's approaching footsteps. He flung open the door in a drunken rage, a whisky bottle in one hand, the toilet brush in the other - screaming that my diseased shit had blocked the toilet again, and that it was contagious and he swears he caught typhoid that way unblocking the toilet after my last dispatch.  
Upon seeing my fervoured state of being, he paused momentarily, aghast.  
Before I knew it, I had been dragged down the stairs by my flaming red locks that tumbled down the stairs behind me in a romantic fashion, contrasting significantly with the situation in hand. He proceeded to beat me to a bloody pulp with the shit stained toilet brush, howling that I was a dirty whore, who would never be cleaned of my sins to God.  
I lay there, sobbing, still, and eventually, cried myself into a hazy concussed sleep, with strange visions of spiders haunting my mind, taunting me, tantalising my femininity.  
I was awoken almost immediately by a firm kick to the vagina from what felt distinctly like a size 6 Reebok trainer, followed shortly by...  
"ROwSE WAKE DA FOCK UP, GOw da SCHOOL WHORE BITCH". It was my 12 year old adopted brother, Jhomme. His vocal chords strained under the weight of his burgeoning puberty - caning my bloodied ears.  
Jhomme didn't sympathise with my terrible plight at the gruff hand of my father's punishment for killing my mother in child birth all those years ago. Perhaps, even Jhomme resents me for never meeting his adopted mother, who, he has been told, loved him very much and was sad she never got to meet him, since he had been adopted 5 years after her death, as soon as it became clear I would be a whore and a disappointment to my father.  
He knew my father's love all too well, and my father knew Jhomme's love in return, even, at times, took it from him. Emotionally. Physically. Conceptually. Anyway, I was terribly late for school.

Arriving in a pool of sweat which dripped from my volcanic pits, about to erupt and become a personal natural disaster, that felt soo unnatural. Since I have a severe personal hygiene problem, and after missing the bus the 1K run across states to school only made issues worse. I really smelt.

10 minutes late, I stumbled through the door of my first class, Lit. In a state of undress, having not had time to change from my nightie after my morning beating, I dropped all of my books, and with the shock my vagina popped my tampon out as I opened the doors, and it rolled across the classroom.  
Seeing the commotion, the class consequently erupted into laughter, and amidst their shrieking I heard the all-familiar jeers,  
"Carrie! Carrie! Carrie!"  
Suddenly, it felt like school again.  
The immature nature of my classmates was dimmed by the beacon of maturity that held fast in the corner.  
I felt a cosmic pull, as I cautiously looked across the classroom, to find those familiar intense green eyes. Mr. Arachnaaron.  
It was as though I was gasping my first breath after drowning for a century, lost and alone. But now, rather than entangled by seaweed in the murky depths, I was anchored in by the phallical strength of his presence.  
Without words, he motioned me to sit, and to my surprise, I readily succumbed to his silent wishes. Unfortunately I ended up in the wrong seat, his seat. It seemed I was monetarily mesmerised by his powerful aura of charisma, I had undoubtedly misread his telepathic signals. Despite the embarrassing situation, I felt safe, secure, and whole. To my relief, consciousness returned, and I hurriedly scrambled back to my designated seat. The lesson began.

I couldn't concentrate at all during the lesson, so when the bell rang, I almost died of a heart attack. This greatly concerned me, because I have a generic heart condition that was passed down from my mother to me, genetically. So I truly could have died.  
Seeing my panic stricken state, Mr. Arachnaaron confidently and stylishly scuttled towards me. I held my breath as the distance between us narrowed. The hairs on the back of my neck and back stood to attention as though fully aware a commanding presence was close.  
This was the first time I had been able to clearly see his face, I knew my dreams would be more vivid this night.  
He was so unnaturally handsome, kinda... foxy. So different from my father, and the men I had seen in my hardcore gay magazine collection.  
He was handsome, really, really handsome. It took a while for me to realise my mouth was gaping wide open. He realised straight away, and gently but firmly lifted my chin with his strong hand. nnnggh.

He opened his mouth and with the deepest, most masculine voice imaginable he spoke...  
"Rose, why has so much blood been spilled on your white night dress?"  
The shock of him speaking my name so softly elminated the embarassment of my candid reply,  
"I don't know if you saw, but earlier I popped out a tampon and now my nighty is no longer a whitey, since it's been soaking up my heavy virginal menstrual flow..."  
He whispered - "You're a virgin huh? That's rare for a high school girl in today's human society."  
"What society are you comparing it to?"

His eyes darkened with worry as they flickered towards the well known abandoned cobweb in the corner of the Lit classroom.  
"No society you know."

As soon as the words had poured fourth from his soft, rosey, wet parted lips that were set in his handsome chiseled jawline, he was gone. I just glimsped a flash of the pointed toes of his Italian leather shoes disappearing around the classroom door as he crawled away. But were there only two?

I was alone once again, but at least I had the company of his concern to stay with me. Perhaps he was my new Mister Solace? I was left to contemplate the significance of his words. And generally how hot he was, as my hand worked his way up my thigh..


End file.
